


Good Night

by krikkiter68



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Don't copy to another site, Fluff and Smut, Friendship, Hampstead Heath, Listening to The Beatles, M/M, Moonlight, Mutual Masturbation, Romance, Slash, The White Album
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-05-07 07:50:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19205062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krikkiter68/pseuds/krikkiter68
Summary: Just a little dalliance on Hampstead Heath.





	Good Night

The full moon blurs in Aziraphale's vision as he comes against those long, soft-skinned fingers, gasping, white wings beating, back arching against the grass. It's marvellous and he can't stop, doesn't want to stop, come positively pouring against Crowley's palm. Crowley's long cock pulses in his stuttering grip, and he gasps as Crowley screams and arches, black wings extended and fluttering madly. A jet of warm, soft come splatters across Aziraphale's bare abdomen, and he collapses backwards, chest heaving, sated, his taut features relaxing into a grin.

I'm always surprised it's not scalding, he muses. Not complaining, though.

Crowley groans as he lands beside him, his lush mouth fallen open, and Aziraphale can't resist leaning in for a kiss. They kiss for long minutes, and when they stop and he opens his eyes, he sees that Crowley's pupils are fully dilated, the irises nearly black. Crowley smiles. He looks divine.

"Thanks, Angel," Crowley says, slightly breathlessly.

"Don't mention it, my dear," Aziraphale murmurs. "What are we listening to, by the way?"

"The White Album by The Beatles. Revolution No 9, to be precise. One of the most avant-garde and innovative tracks from a pop band in all of history. Apparently, the lads were influenced by Stockhausen. Like it?"

Aziraphale smiles absently up into the glittering stars.

"Hmmm. It's very pretty."

Crowley frowns, briefly, then glances sideways at his companion.

"D'ya know what, I'm knackered now. Fancy a nap, Angel?"

"Don't mind if I do," Aziraphale says, stifling a yawn.

They embrace on the hillside, as the music from Crowley's ghetto-blaster changes, and lush strings fill the air. Crowley nods downwards.

"Tummy dry?"

"Think so," Aziraphale murmurs, as Crowley slides in close, skin against skin. Then sighs contentedly as Crowley's warm wings surround him. Nuzzles the side of Crowley's warm, pale neck.

"Good night, darling," Aziraphale whispers, eyes fluttering shut. Crowley kisses his forehead.

"Good night, Angel."


End file.
